


Corde Volenti

by figbash



Series: Nagron [45]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figbash/pseuds/figbash
Summary: "My Willing Heart"Nasir falling in love with Agron.





	Corde Volenti

Tiberius’ attentions have been fixed upon Spartacus the entire evening. Occasionally the rebellion leader turns and meets his gaze, but Tiberius finds only calm empathy there. This unexpected turn of events is troubling to him. 

Tiberius has always been a quick study in the particular math of human interactions. He knew how to navigate the tangled politics of villa life: when to be seen and not to be seen, how to anticipate and attend to every whim of his dominus. He knew how to keep secrets… and that when Dominus fucked Chadara, it was only a matter of time before he'd call Tiberius into his bed to join them. Most of all, Tiberius knew how to lock his heart away to perform what was commanded of him.

Tiberius doesn’t like this new fear that he feels himself drowning in. It dredges old memories that should stay buried, that challenge the delicate balance of what his life has been, that shame him for the things he has done to reach his elevated position. But now it's as though that entire world has vanished into the air, and all that is left to Tiberius is the infuriation of utter defeat. So he sits against a column in the courtyard, watching the man who has taken everything from him in the space of a single day.

"You press fortune. Glaring so at the slayer of Theokoles."

It is the large one from East of the Rhine who interrupts his thoughts, the man they call Agron. This one has been lingering at the edges of his vision, and already Tiberius has sensed himself surveyed more than once. Tiberius doesn't smile at Agron's attempt at humor, and he can’t decide whether he is wanting of Agron’s company. It seems odd to consider that he would have choice in such a thing. 

“His victory but proving even giants fall,” answers Tiberius grimly.

The boldness of his remark is received with a smile. Tiberius accepts Agron’s offering of drink, giving him a glance that carries a hint of wariness. He wonders at the designs Agron might harbor for him. He wonders too at what privilege it might win, were he to submit to such an advance. But Tiberius decides that if freedom is to be forced upon him, he shall be pet no longer. 

They are cautious and guarded in their conversation. Against his better judgement, Tiberius makes mention of his brother. The memory stings him, although Tiberius sees unexpected empathy in Agron’s eyes as well. Tiberius is drawn to the brilliant green warmth of them, but then he retracts. Suddenly he feels too vulnerable. Agron says something a little coarse, Tiberius says something a little cruel, and then he is left sitting alone once again. Tiberius stares off into the courtyard. So be it.

With reluctance Tiberius aids in deception of the Roman scouts who arrive at the villa that night. Suddenly he sees how tenuously the fugitives grasp their freedom. Words uttered in haste save them all from a certain defeat by Roman reinforcements. Instead, the scouts are confronted with the rebels who lunge from hiding. Tiberius falls hard to the stone tiles, watching anxiously to see what new fate is in store. He isn’t sure whether to arm himself with the gladius that has fallen just within reach. 

A Roman strikes the side of Agron’s face and that spurs Tiberius to his feet, impaling the soldier who attempts attack upon a distracted Spartacus. Tiberius lets the bloodied gladius fall to the ground again, stunned and speechless. Then Crixus grabs him by the neck, suspecting him of treachery. Tiberius can barely voice his defense, but at last they hear the truth in his words.

“You did well, Tiberius,” Spartacus tells him with gratitude.

The answer that issues forth comes from deep within, from a hidden and long-slumbering place, nearly forgotten. How many years have passed since he has spoken his own name? The syllables are strange in his mouth, but he speaks them again, locking eyes with Agron. There is a twinge in his chest and it feels as though all of the air has left his lungs. He can see with some relief that Agron understands perfectly what he has said, and the weight of the declaration he has made. 

A death and a rebirth, as sudden as the thrust of the sword that has saved the life of Spartacus. Agron nods respectfully, in silent astonishment.

 

Nasir.

 

They do not break words again until morning, and when they do, Agron's gaze is subtly different. Nasir is pleased to find that it lingers upon him still. He’s unsure how to digest all of it, how he’s meant to behave when he’s in Agron’s presence, how he must pretend that his heart does not beat three times as fast. 

It is a difficult task to knit identity from disparate broken pieces, but Nasir drives on, feeling as though he is floating upon a river. His feet cannot touch the bottom and so he must see where the current takes him. At times it seems to be flowing far too quickly, that surely they will crash against a rock around the next bend. But the journey is thrilling, and Nasir realizes he could never turn from what this new world offers him. Nasir promises to himself that when the gods take him, he shall die a free man.

Nasir is still hindered by his inexperience as he wields his sword, but this day it claims a Roman who is moments away from taking Agron’s life. With a tiny bit of pride he watches the man fall before his feet. The blood thrums in Nasir's veins. He likes this new power. He is conscious of a great change taking place, and it is a strange and exhilarating thing. 

Agron offers his gratitude with a vulgar joke. Nasir hesitates, but then gives him a smile through his bewilderment. He decides that he likes Agron too, coarse manners and all.

They squat down over the fallen body. Agron offers words of advice, and Nasir half-listens, staring up into the appealing angles of Agron’s face. He wonders if the warmth he finds there is merely his own imagination. He wonders what it is like to be loved with the passion Crixus holds for Naevia, to have a man risk all, merely for the sight of you.

“I will help shoulder weight,” Agron begins to say. For a fleeting moment, Nasir remembers falling to slumber tucked safely in his brother’s arms, in a land that is worlds away, forever lost to him.

Then the Roman stirs with life, and a secret passes his lips before Agron silences them with a vicious stab. Nasir is weary of secrets, but he does not challenge Agron’s lie. Nasir cannot quite make up his mind what he thinks about it all. He watches with sadness as Crixus mourns Naevia, and again ponders their love, how such a thing could reduce even a champion of the arena to ashes. Nasir remembers the unspeakable scenes behind the walls of his villa, like watching a butterfly caught in the jaws of a beast. He wants to ease the misery of all of it. 

Nasir takes a step forward but then Agron’s hand is holding his face and Nasir’s heart again beats hard in his chest. He looks up into Agron’s eyes and they hold him captive. Shamefully, Nasir nods that he will keep their secret. It hangs like a weight upon their every conversation, like it will tear Nasir’s heart in two. Agron’s friendly touches drive him nearly to madness, but guiltily he craves them still.

Only Chadara sees through him. At last she gives voice to her thoughts, and she does not know it is like placing stones upon his back. Nasir’s fears rise in his heart again. He imagines at last unburdening himself, but he imagines Agron’s anger too. He finds himself greedy for Agron’s attentions, even under false pretense. 

But Nasir’s deception is short-lived. He does what he must. With a furious cry, Crixus tackles Agron in the courtyard. They are parted by Spartacus before any true harm is done. Agron eyes Nasir and Nasir looks away, regretful of the friendship that has been ruined before it could take shape. He turns his hopes to Naevia, that she will be freed from undeserved fate.

They make final preparations for their departure. Agron and Donar hold brief discussion, and Nasir follows them quietly. He sees that he is spared a single, unreadable glance from Agron. They emerge from the hallway to the courtyard and Agron bids Crixus and Spartacus farewell. Nasir wonders whether the mines will claim them all. Not a man among them has likely set foot in the wretched place. He studies the determined scowl on the face of Crixus. Again Nasir remembers the torture of the poor creature so beloved by the man.

“I accompanied my dominus to the mines once. I may be of some aid.”

Nasir looks back at Agron. He feels his heart sink at Agron’s incredulous expression, but it then shifts unexpectedly into a smile.

“Fucking Syrians,” Agron says simply, but there is humor just beneath the surface, and Nasir holds the words in his heart like a fool. 

Nasir returns Agron’s smile and with that simple moment, his hope floods back into him. He will fight for all he is worth to know this feeling again.

 

*     *     *

 

The mines are a dark, nightmarish labyrinth. Somehow they stay a few paces from demise, but they all feel the danger drawing ever closer. They tread miserably down a tunnel that is like the throat of a demon. Nasir is certain they will be swallowed up before Naevia is found. He is fearful that perhaps she has already perished, but then he spots the mark upon the back of a trembling girl, nearly obscured by cold, gritty mud.

Nasir watches Crixus and Naevia embrace, like two halves reunited. It is beautiful, even among the horrors of the place. He wonders where Agron is, at this exact moment. He wonders if Agron is safe. With a brief tinge of sadness, Nasir knows they may never be in each other’s company again. The thought repeats itself countless times as they run for their lives.

The Romans pursue them like slavering wolves, deep into the forest, picking them off one by one. They are pushed beyond exhaustion before long, stumbling ragged over the uneven land. It is Naevia who suffers worst of all. Nasir sees in her face the look of a wild animal, though he can do nothing but offer helpless sympathy. They steal a moment’s rest once they reach higher ground, and then the Romans plunge them into bloody chaos yet again. 

 

And then it happens. For the first time, Nasir knows the sickening, awful pierce of the gladius as it tears into his side. He falls to his knees as he feels a horrific torrent of blood escape the wound.

 _Is it Death that greets me?_ Nasir wonders, as the world around him seems to slow to a crawl. Spartacus and Mira catch him as he collapses, and Nasir sees a flash of sky and treetops before everything slips away to blackness. When Nasir opens his eyes again, he is before a small fire, and he cannot dispel the notion that he is staring at his soul outside of his body. _It yet burns, and so I live,_ Nasir reasons hazily. Then he squints at the sword being held in the flames. 

Spartacus tells him of what they must do, and without hesitation Nasir accepts it as a brand of brotherhood. Mira and Naevia hold him firmly to the ground. There is nothing that can prepare him for the pain, however. It is the kind of searing, white hot agony that wracks the body, immeasurably worse than the stab of the gladius. Nasir feels the crackle and burn of his own raw flesh, but manages to choke away the scream that would give them away to the Romans. 

Blackness again. Somehow Nasir knows he must not sleep too deeply. Already he feels a pull towards the after life, and the temptation of sweet relief is strong indeed. But somewhere within Nasir is a defiance that is yet stronger. The gods must be watching, for Nasir wakes to a reward- the sight of Agron kneeling before him. Nasir’s lips curve into the ghost of a smile, though his body is too weak to do much else. Agron lifts him, and perhaps the brief happiness of that moment keeps Nasir safely from the edge of oblivion.

It is unclear how many days pass by him uncounted. Nasir’s eyes do not open and his limbs do not stir, but he knows that he hears the voices of the medicus, of Naevia, and of Agron, too. Nasir does not know if he will ever wake again, as he wanders from dream to dream. How simple it would be, to relinquish hold upon this world. Has he not suffered enough to fill several lifetimes? There are many such questions that burden Nasir’s thoughts, but his answer remains the same: _I shall live._

And so Nasir does. His eyes flutter and he is of solid flesh again. Nasir tries to rise from the stone slab, but his body quickly reminds him of the gash in his side and refuses to obey. He clutches at his freshly-bandaged middle, making a second attempt, managing to sit up after significant effort. Slowly he eases himself to his feet and carefully navigates the hall.

The sight of those gathered beyond the steps of the temple invigorates him. They are yet a paltry number, but much improved from the four survivors of the rescue party, fortunate to have escaped with their lives. Most of all, Nasir is glad to set eyes upon Agron once more. With a warm heart, Nasir speaks out.

“Where do we go?” 

“Nasir!” Agron rushes to his side, raising an affectionate hand to his cheek. There are calloused fingers and a grin that charms Nasir to brief distraction before he turns back to Spartacus.

“Give me a sword, I will join you,” Nasir declares.

Spartacus smiles at him. “I would have you rest yet awhile longer.”

“This time you stay, and I go,” explains Agron gently.

Nasir turns his attention back to him and nods. He watches Agron draw in closer, and then like one of the strange dreams from which he has only just emerged, Nasir is being kissed. The gesture is so unexpected that it takes a moment for the smile to blossom on Nasir’s face. It takes even longer for the glorious tingle to fade from Nasir’s lips once it is over. 

Agron’s eyes seem to invade him, like they are searching for some manner of confirmation, and Nasir does not shy from it. They are silent, but the understanding is plain between them.

 

*     *     *

 

“I pray he is not returned to your arms with matching wound,” Naevia tells Nasir with affection, fussing with his bandages yet again. It still feels unnatural to be treated with such tender concern, but he has enjoyed their many conversations.

Naevia attends to him with elegant, practiced efficiency. The well-trained hands of a house slave. Nasir stares at them, wondering if he too has absorbed such things, woven them inexorably into the fabric of himself. A pang of guilt strikes him. “…Perhaps it would stand just punishment from the gods, for holding secret of your fate.”

Naevia smiles at him kindly, shaking her head. “You are both dear to me, Nasir. I lay blame upon none but the Romans, and the treacherous fuck who sought benefit from my torture.”

The guilt recedes a little, but not entirely. “You are stronger than I.”

Naevia gently ties a knot with the ends of the linen strip. Her eyes drift away from him, burdened by a shame with which Nasir himself is all too familiar. 

“…I am but a broken thing,” she answers. “There is no pride in that.”

Nasir can see all of it again in his mind, a quick succession of awful scenes and awful sounds. Having to bear witness with his face frozen in an impassive mask. Then Nasir pushes it away again. 

“We survive, Naevia… and seek to mend wounds unseen.”

Silently, Naevia nods.

“…Yet it lifts spirit to witness the love you hold,” Nasir tells her warmly. “It is a thing of beauty.”

Naevia tilts her head. “You will soon enough hold your own.”

Nasir opens his mouth, looking down at the ground. He finds himself unable to utter even a syllable. He looks back up at Naevia, and hopes he doesn’t appear quite as foolish as he feels. The smile returns to Naevia’s face. 

“…You need not break words upon it. Carry them in your heart, and if he is worthy, gift them to him.”

 

*     *     *

 

Together Agron and Nasir steal some moments before Agron is to depart. Nasir realizes that it will always be this way, that they must fight for every breath they draw. The rebellion is in its infancy, but Nasir already knows that theirs will be a path of uncertainty, and hardship. He looks up at Agron, and perhaps Agron too has fallen upon similar thought.

“You deem it madness, to tempt fate yet again?” Agron asks him.

“We rebel against the very order of the world. Are we not all men and women of madness?” answers Nasir.

“It is true of you and I,” says Agron fondly. “Of that, I hold little doubt.”

Agron reaches out, finding Nasir’s hips under his coat, careful of Nasir’s wounded middle as he pulls him closer. Nasir feels his skin come alive and he can’t decide where to put his hands… they rest on Agron’s chest for a moment, and then they drop to Agron’s waist. He hears Agron exhale in response, feels Agron’s solid fingers give his hip the slightest squeeze as Agron’s other hand cups his face. 

Agron pauses, pressing his forehead to him, almost bashful. “An indulgence before I take leave?” he asks quietly.

Nasir smiles. “You might do so without preamble, as before.”

“I was not of proper mind. Apologies.” Agron hesitates, then adds, “There are many words I would break-"

Nasir’s hand slides around the back of Agron’s neck and their lips meet. He cannot help but marvel at such a simple, lovely thing. How does one become like this? How does the world shift in such an enormous way?

“I would hear them upon victorious return,” murmurs Nasir as he releases him. "...Gods protect you, Agron.”

It is sharply painful to have all of this so abruptly taken away, but Nasir does not allow Agron to see it upon his face. Time is too precious for that. They regard each other for a long moment. With visible reluctance, Agron departs at last.

Nasir can feel his hope, like wind stirring the trees, like the sun burning in the sky. Like they are tethered to each other with a thread. Even now he can feel the shape of Agron’s waist under his fingers, hard and soft at the same time. Perhaps it is a summation of Agron himself. They are yet a cluster of mysteries to each other, and eagerly Nasir awaits Agron’s return, so that he might unravel a little more, while the gods see fit to allow it.

 

 

 

 

[My Nagron music video to James Blake's "My Willing Heart":](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BwpZ1f8sb7njVVFpR0ZteW9PMm8/view?usp=sharing)

[ ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BwpZ1f8sb7njVVFpR0ZteW9PMm8/view?usp=sharing)

 

**Author's Note:**

> The tone of this story was inspired by the James Blake song, "My Willing Heart," hence the story title and the music video at the end. I think it suits Nasir's side of the love story <3 
> 
> Nasir is interesting in this early part of his story arc because he's relatively opaque. A lot of looks get exchanged between him and Agron, but there's so much more going on inside him that we aren't privy to. Nasir has suddenly been thrust into an incredibly intense and dangerous situation after his previous life (perhaps the only one he's really known) basically disappeared. How does a person deal with having the entire floor drop out from beneath them? 
> 
> Things are murky and confusing as Nasir is forced to figure out countless questions for himself. Suddenly he's a free man. To further complicate things, he's falling in love with Agron before he realizes it's happening. How do you navigate a relationship when you've never had the ability to make those kinds of choices before? 
> 
> I like to imagine all that chaos churning inside of Nasir. And I love that at the end of the series, he gets to walk away and really experience a life of freedom with the one he loves.
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote Agron's side of the story a little differently, which starts with [Principium.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3099230)


End file.
